Hotel Art

Precipitation, a creature
chewing cubes of ice

sat over an open bowl
rallied against the avant-

plus-one pan-bullshit
against the lurid florals

of the human face
stalling an inhabitable biodome

from impending decimation
that, now that was activism

which asked one to melt oneself
into a series of numbers, angles

into over-proof booze tinctured
at correct volatility & w/ mineral salt

there was a gossamer net of fish line
at the very top of a field of visions

there was an expansive, elitist city
underneath the Denver airport

I tried to swallow the sound of the
plastic bag disrupting an elegiac poem

a la the mycelial network
we circulated

I had a list of names of sex partners
tallied up to verse the impregnable void

a thrush of life forms otherwise writhing
the bullet didn’t come back down

instead extra-cellular matrix water
clung to the ceiling– when the ego died

it all non-sensical– vibing till indistinguishable
the dim room any room

the painting any sun scene
hung low over an inlet

minutia like cat-o-nine tails &
bay grass loomed in the foreground

gulls small in the distance
brush strokes soft at the sky, sea

At Spring Thing

Drunk on organic rosé
at the Episcopal church
a small circle of adults
lay on the floor chanting
DO YOU WORRY
ABOUT THE FUTURE
in rounds like a gong
an ambiguous child
with a jagged haircut
stood in the middle turning
& bending sometimes
to slap their thighs

I tried not to look at
the woman sat next to me
the severity of her name
too beautiful to slip into
a poem or even say though
at introduction
I acquiesced pinkly–
O the interstices of her face
ornate as a mandala or lure
& all the healed persons
of the world– merry widows
pressed against a glass door